


The Adventure At Arnsworth Castle

by Cerdic519



Series: Further Adventures Of Mr. Sherlock Holmes [43]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Castles, F/M, Illegitimacy, Inheritance, Justice, M/M, Slow Burn, Treasure Hunting, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes, Yorkshire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 07:32:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15286770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: Strong contenders here for the most unpleasant people ever to demand Sherlock's services – will he work so they get what they want, or get what they deserve?





	The Adventure At Arnsworth Castle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MelodyofWings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelodyofWings/gifts).



_Introduction by Sir Sherrinford Holmes, Baronet_

This was one of the lighter of my brother Sherlock's cases, and it was with some regret that Watson was unable to publish it in the original canon. The reason was that one of the characters in it, who was at the time wooing a lady, asked that it not be put out for some years as her family would not welcome it. However now that Mr. and Mrs. Stephenson and their family have emigrated to Canada they have most graciously given permission for its publication, subject to the usual changes of names and places. It is the start of 'Eighty-Nine and my brother Sherlock is about to embark on a treasure-hunt – for some very unpleasant people.

Note: it was during this case that my beloved Kean achieved the impossible - he made me love him even more.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

_Narration by Doctor John Hamish Watson, M.D._

I was depressed.

I supposed that I was foolish to have expected all my fellow men to fully respect the institution of marriage. But I had been so unlucky! As part of my surgery duties, I from time to time stood in as a representative at social events run by the people whose philanthropy kept the place going. My dear wife had, by an ill chance, agreed to attend the last one with me, and it was there that I (and unfortunately not my fist) ran into the vile excrement called Mr. Philoctetes Jones.

Mr. Jones was a lounge-lizard of the first order; indeed I am sure even lounge-lizards would protest at his being ranked amongst them. An Irishman by birth, he had lost out heavily some years back over certain changes to land laws in that island, and had sued the government. Most regrettably he had won, not on the actual point of law but because the government lawyers had so fouled up the paperwork that an irate judge awarded him an obscene amount in damages, courtesy of taxpayers like my good self. It was more than enough for him to live on comfortably for the rest of his life – and unfortunately it had brought him to London where he had set his sights on my Mary. She of course rebuffed his advances but, like a rash, he persisted. And now I was away from her and London.

I do not know how Sherlock knew of my troubles, but then this was London and few things were secret for long. I was also stressed because the _”Strand”_ magazine had, as they had said they would, requested a further story from me, and Sherlock had agreed that the tale known as _The Sign Of The Four_ might be suitable. Transcribing my notes into literary form was a lot harder than it had been the last time, and I was exhausted that first week of the New Year. The only upside was our destination.

Our possible destination.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

I had always felt an affinity with the works of the Brontë Sisters and their dystopian works set in the wilds of the West Riding of Yorkshire, a county of such vivid contrasts. Thus the chance to visit the area and to see the famous Arnsworth Castle, scene of a year-long Civil War siege, was welcome indeed. Unfortunately our clients in this case would turn out to be amongst the most odious of all those who had called on my friend's great talents over the years, with the result that.... well, we shall see.

Holmes looked at me across the first-class carriage (there were definite benefits to travelling with him).

“I doubt that this small matter will feature amongst my finest cases”, he observed. “No murder, just a treasure-hunt. For what might well be no treasure.”

“Tell me about it”, I said, sitting forward. I knew that he had received a telegram the previous evening, and I had had to send a message to the surgery myself to secure my absence for a short time. Fortunately they did not mind provided that I made my time up later, as they knew I would.

“It concerns the recent death of Mr. Elisha Huffington, the owner of Arnsworth Castle in the town of Keighley”, he began. “I am sure that you know the history of the place, and he was the last of the direct male line. He died of pneumonia at the age of fifty-four.”

I nodded; I had read of the death in the _“Times”_ nearly a month back. I wondered why the matter was suddenly so important some four weeks on.

“Though he had no direct heirs, his cousin Mrs. Jennifer Huffington-Brand – Mr. Huffington had 'requested' that she and her husband Horace both take his name - lived in the castle with him. They have asked me to help them out. Reading between the lines I rather suspect that his cousin's marriage to an Irishman did not sit well with the late Mr. Huffington, and from her tone I doubt that Mrs. Huffington-Brand would have made much effort to ameliorate matters. I did have some suspicions about the death when I read of it but the local coroner assured me that the man had suffered from pneumonia these last three winters, it proving fatal this time. That was confirmed by his doctor.”

“The castle was the late Elisha Huffington's to dispose of as he wished and he left a somewhat peculiar will”, Holmes went on. “The building was to become, for one month, the property of his cousins, and they were to be paid an allowance for living there. However the will stated that the couple had to locate the whereabouts of Mr. Huffington's wealth in that time, and if they failed so to do then the building and its entire contents would be gifted to the town of Keighley. I have to note that they have waited until there are only three days to go before calling me in, so I am not best pleased.”

“They want you to find the money, then?” I asked. He nodded.

“There were the usual bequests to servants”, he said, “quite generous ones apparently, but yes. As I said, Mr. Elisha Huffington only narrowly survived his illness last winter and he appears to have spent the last year removing his money from bonds and investments and presumably changing it into some other form. Whatever that form was, it has successfully eluded his cousins' efforts to find it thus far.”

“So in three days they are homeless”, I observed.

“No”, Holmes said. “Mr. Huffington left them a small house in the town, which is theirs as of right, but from Mrs. Huffington-Brand's letter that is not an option which particularly appeals to her. I dare say that we shall know more once we reach our destination, which is but a short cab ride from the railway station.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

We arrived in Keighley some little time later and the ride to Arnsworth Castle took barely five minutes. It holds a commanding position on a hill where the little River Worth joins the much larger River Aire, and it was easy to see why it had been able to withstand a siege for so long. I remembered reading about the legend that Mr. Nehemiah Huffington, who had held the castle for King Charles, had betrayed its defences to the parliamentarians in return for being allowed to keep his estates. It was notable that, unlike so many other places captured at this time, the fortress had not subsequently been 'slighted'.

Two rather poorly-presented servants took our bags up to our rooms and we were asked to attend our hosts at once. We found them waiting for us in the sitting-room. 

Holmes entertained all sorts of strange clients during his career, but few elicited such a strong negative reaction from me as the Huffington-Brands. Had we not had the coroner's assurance that the late Elisha Huffington's death had been from natural causes, I should have suspected them within moments of meeting them. Mrs. Huffington-Brand – 'call me Jenny, please!' - openly simpered at Holmes, despite her husband being right there in the room! She was possibly around forty years of age although it was hard to tell beneath the construction worker levels of make-up that she had trowelled on that morning, and the appalling purple thing she was wearing. She added to the general mess by using perfume like it was going out of fashion; I stepped back and had to suppress a cough at the stench of violets! And her fake smile was almost as grating as her voice!

Her husband was scarcely any better, an oily fellow in his early forties with receding and badly dyed grey hair, a weak attempt at a moustache and incredibly small eyes. He seemed less keen than his wife in our involvement in the case, I noted. Then again, if Holmes could find his fortune for him he would probably think him the best thing since the milk chocolate bar!

Mrs. Huffington-Brand ( _I_ was not invited to 'call her Jenny') told us that dinner would be served shortly but she hoped that we would swiftly get down to work. Holmes smiled benignly.

“I first have a list of questions for you as regards the case”, he told her as I took out my notepad to note down her replies. “And do not worry; Watson never publishes any of my cases without the express permission of those involved, including myself.”

She seemed to relax a little at that reassurance. I could already see myself being torn in this case, partly wanting Holmes to succeed and partly hoping that he failed so that these obnoxious people did not get what they clearly thought that they deserved (apart from better dress sense, better manners, a volume control and a strong headwind).

“First”, Holmes said, “I wish to know what if anything has been removed from the house since your later cousin's death.”

“Nothing of import”, she said firmly. “The will did make a whole host of unnecessary bequests to servants and the like, but they do not get put into effect until our month is up. Which it very nearly is!”

Holmes would have been fully within his rights to point out at this moment that the couple had waited until the last moment before calling him in, but he did not. However, I did notice a tell-tale slight crease in his forehead, a sure sign that he was annoyed but was refraining from comment.

“Who is empowered to act as executor?” he asked. “I assume bearing in mind the terms of the will, Mr. Huffington could hardly have appointed your good selves.”

“That imp Stephenson from Crampton & Brookes in town”, the woman sniffed. “He is _far_ too young for such a great responsibility, but he was the one who drew up this wretched will. We wanted to challenge it, but my cruel cousin made it so that if we did so and failed, we would lose even that impossibly tiny house in the town.”

She sounded truly indignant that her inconsiderate relative had declined to leave all his money to her straight off. My regard for her late cousin was increasing by the minute. I suppressed a smile.

“Is Mr. Stephenson a partner at his firm?” Holmes asked. I thought that an odd question.

“He is not even of clean birth!” Mrs. Huffington-Brand sneered. “He was adopted by old Mr. Crampton from the orphanage of all places, when his own wife could not bear children. And he actually partakes in the local _theatre!”_

She spat out that last comment as if the unseen Mr. Stephenson drowned puppies in his spare time. Clearly there was no love lost there. 

“There were number of small cash requests”, Mr. Huffington-Brand said, “but they are all on hold until our time here is up. And there were five physical bequests. That cur Stephenson got one of them, of course. Our cousin's late wife was the same, all for wasting time with the theatre, so he left the dog all the costumes and other equipment that she had amassed over the years, much good may it do him. He also left a very expensive set of cut glassware _and_ a choice of any twelve bottles of wine he wanted from the cellar to Hall, the butler.”

“We must check that”, Holmes said. “What else, please?”

“For the past two years he allowed Mr. Irwindale who has a flower-shop in the town to use the greenhouse for growing plants in”, Mr. Huffington-Brand said, his tone indicating clear disapproval of this arrangement. “He left the entire contents of the building to the man. He has been allowed in to tend to them, but he has never been left unsupervised. We saw to that!”

Otherwise he might run off with a tulip, I thought cattily. 

“That will take some searching”, Holmes frowned. “The other two bequests?”

“Sarah, a maid who had worked here for over twenty years, got a tiny vanity-box of the late Mrs. Huffington's that she had always wanted”, Mr. Huffington-Brand said. “That is the one thing that we did let go, after I had had it valued of course. And Parsons, his valet who retired six months ago, actually got a _life tenancy_ on the small house he is living in with his sister down in Haworth, it to continue for her if she outlives him. _Far_ too much, in my opinion. I have to say that the servants have not exactly been overly helpful in our efforts to locate my dear cousin's money.”

I wonder why that was, I thought bitchily. I knew from Holmes' slight twitch of the lips that he was thinking much the same.

“Since you have obviously searched the house from top to bottom and found nothing, we must assume that the money was hidden in a form that has thus far eluded you both”, Holmes said thoughtfully. “I shall telegraph my brother Mycroft and see if he can trace any activity in London on your cousin's behalf over the past year, though I do not hold out much hope there. It seems that he planned everything extremely thoroughly.”

“We shall be reduced to living in a hovel!” the lady sniffed, more than a trifle melodramatically. 

“I shall do my best”, Holmes promised. “I shall dispatch the telegram tonight and as soon as I get up tomorrow I shall thoroughly search his study. Then I shall follow up these bequests.”

I suspected that the couple would rather that he attempted to search the room by candlelight, but they seemed to accept his decision and at that moment the bell summoned us to what turned out to be a decidedly indifferent dinner.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

I stared at my room in a mixture of shock and disappointment. The Huffington-Brands had either not been told of my inclusion in the case or they had not cared. Whilst Holmes had a master suite with, impressively, a canopied four-poster bed, I had what was quite obviously a valet's room off to one side, in which the single bed took up almost half the floor-space! It was pitiful! And matters were not helped when I came into Holmes's room and found him sprawling across the bed, enjoying its sheer luxury!

“Have you seen my room?” I groused. “Actually, forget the word 'room'. I think they just put a bed in one of the store-cupboards!”

“My own room is acceptable”, he said with what was dangerously approaching a smirk. “Although one can tell that the Huffington-Brands are only employing temporary staff. Still, it will do.”

I pouted. It did not get me a better room, worse luck!

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

We spent an hour the following morning searching the study of the late Mr. Elisha Huffington. 

“A very thorough man, I think”, Holmes said to me as he examined the writing-desk. “Did you talk to the servants for me?”

“I did”, I said. “You were right; all the old staff left after the late Mr. Huffington's death and these are all temporary ones. None of them like 'the Empress' as they call her, but none of them know the servants who they replaced. Only a couple are even from the town; most of the locals who were asked refused to work here 'because they knew her'!”

“Not even any gossip”, Holmes sighed, closing a drawer in the desk. “Although I think that we can safely dismiss the idea of Mr. Huffington not leaving anything at all.”

“Why?” I asked.

“I spoke to one of the delivery-men”, he explained. “Mr. Elisha Huffington did not like his cousin and her husband, but he was a man of strict moral character. He had a reputation for always paying his bills on time which was highly appreciated in the town, especially given the way some of the upper classes behave when it comes to parting with money. I do not think that he would have left them in this situation without leaving the money in the house in one form or another.”

He straightened up.

“We must look closely at both the greenhouse and the wine in the cellar”, he said. “I know my wines so I will take the latter, whilst you go outside and see if you can find anything.”

“What if the money is hidden in the bottom of a plant-pot?” I suggested.

“If we assume the money is in the form of pearls or other precious stones, then the only hope is if the pot in question looks recently disturbed”, he said. “You should take some gloves.”

I nodded and set off to my task.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

By the end of the day were were both tired and dirty. Mrs. Huffington-Brand had supplied some of the servants to shake out every single potted plant in the greenhouse but to no avail. And whilst some of the wines in the cellar were quite high-quality ones, none were worth anything even remotely near the fortune that we were looking for. The couple were rather brusque at dinner and I could see that their attitude was annoying Holmes. 

We were back in our rooms before he spoke.

“Mycroft sent me a reply”, he said. 

“I know”, I said, surprised. “You told us at dinner.”

“He did mention something rather odd, which I did not think fitting for the dining-table”, he said. “Mr. Elisha Huffington visited a dressmaker in London. A _ladies'_ dressmaker.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“To what end?” I inquired.

“It remains a mystery”, Holmes said. “But we have an appointment with the legal eagle Mr. Stephenson tomorrow morning, and only two more days before the deadline. Hopefully he can throw some light on matters. You had best retire to your 'store-cupboard'”.

I pouted.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

I have to say that my reaction to Mr. Neil Stephenson was quite the reverse of the one I had towards the Huffington-Brands. He looked even younger than his years – he could not have been much more than twenty - but there was a calm competence about him that I could imagine would reassure his clients. I would have described him as having one of those 'familiar' faces, reassuring rather than spectacular in any way. I sat down alongside my friend and waited to see what he would ask.

Holmes seemed lost in thought for some reason. At last he spoke.

“Mrs. Huffington-Brand does not seem overly enamoured of you, sir”, he said. The young man smiled.

“I am, in effect, the person who will probably supervise the process of her being reduced from living in a castle to living in a small house in town”, he said. “Were the roles reversed, I doubt that I would be exactly overflowing with gratitude.”

“You wrote the will for the late Mr. Elisha Huffington?”

“I did, sir. I am sure that his cousin and her husband have fully briefed you on the contents. My client did not seek to keep things from them.”

“Except the whereabouts of his fortune”, Holmes said pointedly. 

“It was his money to leave as he wished”, the young man said easily. “I am glad that I am not possessed of so much wealth. Money does not always bring happiness, as I have seen with more than one client.”

“What would you have done?” Holmes asked, to my surprise.

“Sir?” The man looked as confused as I felt.

“Hypothetically”, Holmes said. “If you were possessed of a castle and all that wealth, what would you do?”

The young man thought for a moment. 

“I would probably decide to sell the castle”, he admitted. “Mr. Elisha kindly allowed me to stay there one night because I had said I had always wondered what it was like, and I do not think that I have ever been so cold in my entire life, although to be fair it was a bedroom in one of the towers. The money – I would see my dear father right first, because I owe him everything. Then I would probably invest the remainder for when I marry and have a family of my own.”

“Do you have anyone in mind?” Holmes asked. I wondered at the personal nature which his questioning had taken but the lawyer seemed not to mind. 

“There is a... lady who lives in Settle, up the valley”, he said. “But she comes from money and although I am fortunate enough for her to return my affections her father would never countenance such a disparaging match. He is of considerable standing in the Riding, and his brother is one of the county members of parliament.”

“One can only live in hope”, Holmes smiled. “What did you yourself think of the late Mr. Elisha Huffington?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your personal opinion”, Holmes said. “You had several dealings with the man. I would like to know more of him.”

The lawyer thought for a moment.

“He was in outward appearance a cold man”, he said, “and sparing with his affections. But he always treated me well, and from something my father once said I have a suspicion that he helped obtain this post for me. And it was his idea to provide for all of his servants, or at least those who deserved it. They all got cash bequests but the loyal ones got more; as you know the valet who had been with him for decades got a house that could be passed onto his sister, a most unusual bequest. The butler on the other hand, who Mr. Huffington knew had been stealing from him, got just one farthing! That is why I would call him a fair man. The wealth he amassed is somewhere in that castle; he would not leave his cousin and her husband an impossible task.”

“Just a difficult one”, Holmes smiled. “Good day, sir. We have already taken up far too much of your valuable time.”

He stood and bowed before sweeping from the room, leaving me trailing in his wake.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

We spent the rest of the day sorting through the huge number of theatrical costumes that had been bequeathed to Mr. Stephenson, but unless the old lamp I found actually did actually have a genie in it, I could not see how a lot of strange clothes would help solve the case. I covertly rubbed the lamp anyway.

“What is it, o master?”

I yelped, and dropped the lamp on my foot. Holmes had materialized right behind me. 

“Do not do that!” I scowled. 

He chuckled, holding up a belt and harness, both bejewelled with rhinestones.

“Imagine Mrs. Huffington-Brand doing the Dance of the Seven Veils!” he grinned. I grimaced.

“I hate you!” I muttered. “Now I shall not even be able to look at her at dinner tonight.”

“You will not have to”, he said. “She and her husband are having a last day out on the estate's money, shopping in London today and travelling back tomorrow afternoon to see if we have solved the case.”

“Have we?” I asked.

“In a way”, he said. “I have one more question that I should have asked Mr. Stephenson earlier, then we have another interview with someone else tomorrow morning and all should be done. Though I doubt that the Huffington-Brands will be overly pleased at what I have to tell them.”

He picked up what was either a Roman gladiator costume or a couple of random pieces of leather and eyed it critically.

“And I need to send another telegram to London”, he said.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

The following morning we left the house early, and called in at Crampton & Brookes just after nine o'clock. We were fortunate enough to catch Mr. Stephenson on his way in, but Holmes told me to wait in the cab as he said that the question he had to ask would take barely a minute. When he returned he called out, “to the station”. 

“What was your question?” I asked curiously.

“I asked Mr. Stephenson exactly _when_ the late Mr. Elisha Huffington made his will”, Holmes said. “The will he drew up for him was signed off some two weeks before his death. Did you bring your camera as I asked?”

“Yes”, I said. “Is it important?”

“In a way”, he said evasively.

We quickly arrived at the station and to my surprise and delight we caught the local train down the Worth Valley, alighting at the Brontë village of Haworth.

“I promise you some time for sightseeing later”, Holmes said with a smile, “hence the camera, but first we must pay a call.”

We walked into the village, turning away from the centre and climbing the steep hill to a small but well-kept little cottage. Holmes walked up the path and knocked at the door, which was opened by an elderly lady with grey hair.

“Good day, Miss Parsons”, Holmes smiled. “My name is Mr. Sherlock Holmes and this is Doctor John Watson. We would like to speak with your brother, if that is acceptable.”

She looked at him silently for a moment then backed away to let him in. I felt instinctively that Holmes had found her out in some way, though I knew not how. At the table in the single main room an elderly man sat stiff and alert, clearly having heard my friend's name.

“I do not wish to distress either of you”, Holmes said reassuringly, “and provided you deal straight with me, I promise that I shall keep both of your names out of what is shortly to happen. To start, there is something I would have you confirm for me. When did Mr. Elisha Huffington come to your house?”

The two looked at each other as if considering whether or not to attempt to bluff their way out of this, but evidently the man decided to make a clean breast of it.

“A week before he passed on”, he said. “I met him at the station and took him to meet Flo at my brother's house – there was no way he could have managed that hill. I took him all the way back to the castle afterwards; the whole trip exhausted the poor old fellow.”

“He asked you to do something for him”, Holmes said. “Was it all legal and above board?”

“Yes”, the man said with a sigh. “He had a lawyer come in from Leeds when those two harpies were away in York for a day, and he drew the whole thing up legal-like. All that Flo and I had to do was sign it, though he insisted on explaining it all to us first. He was like that.”

“Where is it?” Holmes asked.

The woman hesitated only briefly before crossing to a huge dresser, taking a key from her pocket and unlocking a small drawer. She extracted what was clearly a will and handed it to Holmes.

“The _true_ last will and testament of Mr. Elisha Huffington”, Holmes said, “and the one which does, I am sure, honour his final wishes. Thank you both. It has been a most interesting case.”

He bowed and left the room and I followed him.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

We lunched at a local tavern and I did get to see several of the great authoresses' landmarks, including the Parsonage. I did not try to get Holmes to tell me what he knew, for I knew full well that he would do so in his own good time. 

We returned to Keighley and Arnsworth Castle to find the Huffington-Brands waiting impatiently for us.

“Well?” Mrs. Huffington-Brand demanded. I decided that yes, it was possible to dislike her even more.

“I regret to say that my initial assessment was incorrect”, Holmes said. “It is my opinion that the wealth you were seeking was indeed shipped out of the castle before your search began, and that your cousin was merely having a final jest at your expense.”

They both stared at him incredulously.

“And that is it, Mr. Great Detective?” Mr. Huffington-Brand scoffed. “Hah! Well, we certainly shan't be paying _your_ bill!”

“There will be no bill”, Holmes said. “A few days of Yorkshire air has been most refreshing. Come, doctor. Let us pack and we should be able to catch the last train of the day.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

“So Mr. Elisha Huffington lied”, I smiled as we sat back having made the train with less than five minutes to spare (I had nearly lost Holmes when he had insisted on purchasing a newspaper on the station platform). “But what was the reason for the second will?”

“The new will changed one very important thing”, Holmes said. “It left the castle and estate not to the town, but to someone else.”

“Who?” I asked.

“Mr. Neil Stephenson.”

I stared at him in shock.

“But why?” I asked. “And why did Mr. Huffington lie about the wealth?”

“He did not lie”, Holmes said airily. “I lied. The money is still in the castle, albeit not for long.”

I gaped. 

“Where?” I demanded. He turned to me.

“Do you remember the costume for the Dance of the Seven Veils?” he asked.

I groaned at the reminder.

“Those jewels were not fake”, he said quietly. 

I swallowed hard. That costume must have had about a hundred stones in it, and if they were all real..... it had to be worth an absolute fortune. 

“Mr. Elisha Huffington knew how his cousin and her husband looked down on Mr. Stephenson and his theatrical group”, Holmes said. “They would never think of looking at mere actors' clothes. I am fairly sure that our young lawyer friend is bright enough to work things out, although I called at his work and left him a clue. Our young friend gets the wealth – and more besides.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Do you remember how, when we met Mr. Stephenson, I paused for a time before asking him questions?” Holmes asked.

“Yes”, I said.

“I was trying to recall as to why he looked vaguely familiar”, Holmes said. “When we went back to the castle, I knew when we stood before the huge portrait of Mr. Elisha Huffington who he really was.”

I stared as the pieces finally fell into place.

“He is the old man's son!” I gasped. Holmes nodded.

“I dare say that Mr. Elisha Huffington's father was instrumental in forcing him to leave his illegitimate son at the orphanage”, Holmes said. “But a father's love cannot so easily be overcome. Once his own father had passed on Mr. Elisha brought his son into the area, secured a surrogate father for him and did everything he could to make his life easier. He could have left everything to him directly, but because his cousin and her husband were so unpleasant he took the opportunity to torment them by holding out the prospect of riches before them, knowing that they could never find them.”

“But they brought you onto the case”, I pointed out.

“They got what they deserved”, Holmes said. “Life in a small, cramped house in town will do them both the world of good, although I doubt the denizens of their locality in Keighley would agree with me. Moreover Mr. Stephenson now has the wherewithal to pursue the lady of his dreams.”

“Yet they may put it about that you failed”, I said.

“Publish their own relative poverty?” Holmes said with a laugh. “No. I think not. Though you may choose not to publish this case yourself, my friend, otherwise the British public may start to think I am actually fallible!”

“They are more likely to think that you are actually modest!” I smiled.

He smiled at me, and unfolded his newspaper. He was silent for a moment, then handed it to me and indicated a small story on the society pages. I read it and gasped.

“It seems that Mr. Philoctetes Jones' past has caught up with him at the worst possible moment”, Holmes smiled. “Whilst attending a party and speaking to a Mrs. John Watson, a man recognized him from an encounter in a molly-house some years back. Apparently the man knew certain, ahem, distinguishing features of Mr. Jones that only someone who had seen rather a lot of him would be aware of.”

That was wonderful! That was.... wait a minute. 

“Do I owe your eldest brother anything?” I said carefully.

“He said that Kean is very fond of that horrible concoction known as Turkish Delight”, Holmes grinned.

I made a mental note to send the largest box I could get round to Mr. Kean Hardland as soon as we got back to London Town.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

**Author's Note:**

> Modern note: The railway connecting Keighley through Haworth to Oxenhope, some six miles long, is now a preserved steam line and one of the best in the country, famous for where The Railway Children was filmed.


End file.
